


Testing the Wares, or: Untitled Cabin Verse 5

by Red



Series: Cabin 'Verse PWPs [5]
Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Anal Plug, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-01
Updated: 2008-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the PWKM asking for a follow-up to a line of dialogue in untitled PWP #3: "<i>Phoenix, you've been laying there, thinking I haven't any idea of the difficulty of your little situation. You've been imagining that I don't know what that plug feels like in you--that I wouldn't know you could have an orgasm just sitting on it. It's rather amusing to think that all this time, you've assumed I've never felt the way the metal fills you, hard and impersonal--how every time you so much as twitch, the head of that thing hits your prostate.</i>"</p><p>Can be read without the others in the Cabin Verse, as it's just pretty much Miles masturbating in a hotel room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Testing the Wares, or: Untitled Cabin Verse 5

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt and fill are [over here](http://bludhavens.livejournal.com/38756.html?thread=11326308#t11326308). Thanks, as always, to all the anons who were on the meme back then!

It had been exactly the sort of evening he would miss so thoroughly when back in America for any extended amount of time. The play Adrian had dragged he and his sister to--Adrian had been given four tickets by a client and Franziska had claimed Miles was "fool enough to count for two fools"--had been atrocious in all the best ways, and Adrian had done such an amazingly poor job of masking her laughter at his and Franziska's running commentary. Afterward, they'd gone out for drinks, where they had argued the relative merits of Adrian representing the actor who had given her the tickets ("anyone with tastes that foolish will never be a proper artist," Franziska kept claiming) and ultimately wound up in a heated enough debate to nearly be kicked out of the bar for excessive use of a whip in a public establishment. 

But now, having waved Franziska and Adrian off after the cab had dropped him at the hotel--Adrian, ever the lightweight of their group, had clumsily "fallen" onto Franziska and was halfway on her lap by the time he'd made his escape--the solitude reminded him how thoroughly he missed certain aspects of the States. 

Unlocking the door to his suite, Miles sighed. That play had been so exceedingly melodramatic, so nauseatingly soppy, and the actors so horridly over-the-top that he had no doubt Phoenix would have loved it. Phoenix, he imagined, would have gushed about the female lead later over drinks, and Franziska would have been overjoyed to have a true fool to bully at the table. Hanging his jacket, Miles irritably thought for the thousandth time that week that the damn Atlantic ought to be far smaller. 

Although as he undressed, he had to admit that the real cause of his annoyance wasn't so--pure. Folding his pants neatly, he thought that it didn't matter Wright wasn't around previously this evening. He just wished Phoenix was here, preferably naked, now. Miles had spent years trying to convince Phoenix that taking care of one's clothing was an essential habit to cultivate, but at that moment, he couldn't imagine anything better than Wright misplacing his left shoe, or managing to crumple his shirt in that superhuman manner he had, getting those wrinkles in it that never ironed out.

It had been his intention to take a shower when he came in. He always took a shower before bed, and for a moment he tried to scold himself into that bathroom. But he was at just the right, pleasantly mild level of inebriation--alcohol leaving him warm and a bit lazy--that hazed over that constant inner monologue of his just enough, that so often made him overly aware of his body and left him a little aroused. 

Flopping on the bed in just his boxers and undershirt, he grinned. Being without the company of that inhumanly insatiable partner of his for the last two months, it was a bit more like the drinks left him very aroused, and a little lonely. 

Little matter, he thought, gently scratching his stomach through the shirt. Like anyone, he'd always found his own solution to such problems suitable enough.

Slowly stroking his hand down to palm his half-hard cock through his boxers, he sighed again, a far more breathy noise. As usual, at first he saw no reason to rush matters, rubbing himself with insanely light strokes, merely pulling the fabric of his boxers back and forth over his growing erection. Comfortable and warm, enjoying the gradual build of his arousal, Miles smirked to himself. Phoenix always accused him of being an impossible tease, even when alone. But even if he did tease himself--and he admitted that he might do so, from time to time--Miles felt that Phoenix only had himself to blame. He was certain he used to be far more businesslike in these matters--jerking himself off exclusively in the shower to minimize the mess, doing a quick job of it to minimize time wasted--and it was only through his association with Wright that he had been converted into this sort of hedonist.

Still, as much as he appreciated the art of patience, he wasn't in the mood to take all night. Rubbing a little harder, light fabric infuriating against tight, over-sensitive skin, Miles glanced at his cell on the bedside table. It was very, very tempting to call Phoenix. He'd love it--find it a wonderful surprise, probably wonder if he'd forgot his own birthday, make pleased-at-himself comments like "I'm just so good, you need it over the phone, right, baby?" for months--and listening to Wright's interpretation of phone sex was always good for a laugh, along with the more traditional benefits. But a quick calculation of the time, and considering the day of the week and season... Well, he knew better than to call now. He'd be sixty and still not have heard the end of it, if he interrupted one of those terrifying yard sale excursions Wright went on with the Gumshoes for a lewd phone call.

Still, thinking about Wright, he realized there was one thing he could use to make this whole experience a little more entertaining.

True, he'd bought the... device... in question for Phoenix' personal enjoyment. But, as he let his hand slow again, he decided there was really no reason why he couldn't just try it out. Leaning over, brushing his hair irritably back as it fell in his face, he unclasped the small suitcase half-under the bed. Perhaps he wouldn't usually have the nerve to 'test' a gift he'd purchased for Phoenix, but between the growing heat of arousal and the warmth of the liquor in his blood, he was a little less--to put it more kindly than Wright usually did--high-strung than usual. Besides, he thought, granting Phoenix found out he did try this thing, he'd only like the present even more.

It took some rustling--though the box it had come in had been unobtrusive enough, he had thrown it out immediately, nestling the toy among his socks, and the small bottle of lube he kept in that bag was hidden just as well--but eventually, he had it. The small, weighty piece of metal was cool in his hand.

Sitting up, he looked at the toy again. It was a likely unbreakable habit to strive for perfection in all aspects of his life, and his admittedly colorful sex life with Wright was no exception. Since Phoenix had found it within his power to completely demolish a Pyrex dildo, Miles had to search for an even more durable option--but as fastidious as he was, he instinctively shirked from all those porous rubber things. The stainless steel was that perfect compromise between "easy to sterilize" and "absolutely impossible to destroy" he needed, and the design of the toy had received amazing reviews. He had no doubt that Phoenix would enjoy it--Phoenix seemed to like a lot of things, from ice cubes to Miles' entire hand--but it wouldn't hurt to make sure.

Miles pulled off his undershirt and pushed down his boxers, letting them both lie crumpled in the sheets beside him. He was fully hard now--just thinking about this new purchase, imagining Phoenix blush and moan when he finally got to push it up in him, was enough to make his breath short--and he pumped his hand lightly once more over his heavy erection, flicking his thumb over the head, before going back to the toy.

Slicking his fingers with the lube, he began stretching himself slowly. He couldn't help thinking about Phoenix again as he fingered himself. He liked the sensation of his ass being stretched, loved twisting his fingers forward to make himself pant, but more often than not he bypassed doing this when he masturbated alone. When Phoenix was there, however... He blushed a little, remembering the last time he had done this, too-long months ago. 

They both could be impossible voyeurs at times, and Phoenix loved watching him do this. His hands had been sticky with lube, and he'd been stretching himself too quick, impatient to slick up and straddle Wright to get fucked hard with that impressively thick cock of his, when Phoenix had put a stilling hand on his arm. 

"Hey, come on. No fair rushing now," Phoenix had whispered, as he had moved even closer and laid on his stomach about an inch from Miles' ass. "You're so sexy like this. Just take it easy, and I promise I'll fuck you after the show." 

He had only been able to blush then, too, as Phoenix took advantage of the position to lick teasingly at the stretched-thin flesh of his ass, stubble a disturbingly pleasant rasp against Miles' inner thigh. He grunted, reaching his other hand down now to brush his fingertips lightly over stretched skin, mimicking Wright's playful tongue. He leisurely worked the tight muscle open, breath catching as he felt himself loosen and relax, before drawing his fingers out and reaching down for the plug. 

A small amount of lube covered it so easily, the steel so smooth it was practically slippery enough as it was. Gripping the base carefully with his slick hand, he drew his knees up a little higher, the head of his cock pressing against his belly. He grunted softly as he pressed the toy in gradually, the head stretching him slowly, a thrillingly bizarre, impersonal sensation. The glass dildo he'd bought Wright had certainly been as unyielding and hard as this, but not nearly as cold. When the plug slid easily into place, the angled head was pressing lightly against his prostate. Amused, he snorted--it was a good thing he was using this now, Phoenix was never going to share. 

While the metal felt odd in him, it was undeniably good. Curious, Miles changed his position, and the weight of the metal made the plug shift strangely inside him. He had never imagined he'd be the type to enjoy a sex toy. He was uncomfortable enough even thinking about them--all those ridiculous-looking creations intended to feel 'life-like,' and all those garish colors. Even when he spent too-long years alone in college (for that matter, even now when he spent too-long weeks without Wright) he'd always been content to just make do with his fingers, if he bothered with such stimulation at all. But that glass thing he'd found, and now this...

Biting his lip lightly, he shifted and settled propped against the pillows. Sitting up with legs loosely crossed, the base of the plug was pressed between his ass and the mattress. This was nothing like a cock--nothing, he reflected, like the hot, nearly too-full sensation of Phoenix pressing deep--but it clearly had merits of its own. Not only was the heavy, full sensation as he pumped himself extremely agreeable, but all those reviews he'd spent nights reading were correct: the design of the plug was simply brilliant. As he moved, as his muscles tensed with arousal, it would shift slightly within him.

Already, he felt feverish, body gripping rhythmically around the warming metal. Miles slid his free hand down to cup his balls, and started thumbing the now-damp glans of his cock with nearly every stroke. He was glad he didn't have any real intention to take matters slowly that night, and he closed his eyes, letting his mind wander. He knew he likely had that expression Wright so loved to tease him about ("You look like you're about to slap me with a penalty," Phoenix would always joke, and Miles would fall for it every time--always snapping that he'd slap Phoenix with something, all right--and Phoenix would always smirk and say he hoped that was a promise), frowning slightly as he cast about for something halfway decent to jerk off about.

Like anyone, he'd think about all manner of things while he masturbated--including quite a bit he'd prefer never to mention to Wright, most of which still involved him--but usually, when away like this, the memories of past months spent with an over-exuberant Phoenix were more than enough to entertain him. 

That night was no exception. As he felt the familiar build of tension growing in his body, Miles settled on the most convenient memory, the most easily suitable for his current position--that insanely enthusiastic blow job Phoenix had given him the morning of his flight. 

At the time, he'd thought it was actually too good. "Careful," he'd hissed at Wright, pushing at him lightly--meaning, 'what the hell are you thinking, you'll make me wake your daughter, you idiot,' and Phoenix had obligingly let him slip from his mouth. But now, he was almost perversely glad for Phoenix' lack of control that morning, for the memory of Phoenix' breath hot and wet on his cock as he whispered apologetically that he couldn't help himself. 

Miles trailed his fingers up the heavy vein on the underside of his dick and flicked across the faint scar beneath the head, remembering the way Wright had slid his tongue over him that morning, before he had turned to grin over his shoulder at Miles. Pressing his fingers more firmly as he brought his hand back down, Miles bit his lower lip, recalling that position Phoenix had been in, the easy sprawl he'd get into by Miles' side, facing down to swallow him deep comfortably. He panted, roughly stroking over his glans again. It would never stop being impressive, it'd never cease being one of those things his mind always wandered back to in the most inopportune situations--that sight of Wright happily taking in his whole cock, that indescribable sensation of Phoenix' throat squeezing tightly around him. 

Speeding up, he let himself glaze over his past protests, over Wright's murmur--he distantly remembered Phoenix had said something about needing to give Miles 'something to remember on those cold, lonely nights,' as if he weren't constantly doing that anyway--to recall the way Phoenix had gone right back down on him without preamble, had just got his lips around the base of his cock as if it were something he did all damn day. Phoenix had slid a hand down to press a finger in deep, and Miles clenched back against the plug in his ass, remembering how absolutely amazing Wright had felt. It had been so easy to just pet that dark hair as Phoenix swallowed him contentedly, and give up and just bite his cheek hard, hoping he didn't make any noise. 

The faint itch of sweat was prickling his shoulders, and his involuntary panting seemed far too loud in the lonely hotel suite. He was close, so damn close, and as he rocked his hips up into his pumping hand, he grunted low in surprise. The plug had pressed against his prostate so firmly with the motion, he immediately thrust into his hand again, slicking the thick bead of precome down his cock.

Almost instantly he had found a wild, desperate rhythm, gasping and panting as he jerked himself to completion. He could only think of that last morning for one more moment--mind a jumble of how he'd rasped his cheek against Phoenix', how his hands glided damp over Wright's tensing back, how warm Phoenix' weight was as he fucked him deep and slow--before he dragged his thumb over his slit one last time, and came. Groaning, he thrust erratically a few final times, cock gliding easy over his come-splattered slack hand, shuddering as he clenched against the unrelenting pressure of the plug in his ass.

Slumping against the pillows, pressing his too-warm face against the sheets, he panted for a few moments. But he soon stirred again, wincing. Not only did he just make the most unbecoming mess of himself--lucky thing little had happened to any thousand-count sheets that weren't his--but by now, the plug had become considerably less enjoyable. Exhausted as he was, it wasn't exactly an appealing prospect to get up and take that shower, especially considering the condition in which he'd be walking to the bathroom. But, with a grunt, he tiredly stumbled off of the bed. It wasn't as if there was anyone there to talk him out of it. 

In the bathroom, he gingerly pulled the plug from himself, held it under the tap until water and plug alike were nearly scalding. Glancing into the mirror as he soaped up his hands, he blushed a little to see himself so disheveled, come splattered high on his chest. He knew Phoenix would find out about this somehow. 

Still, as he turned away, Miles smirked to himself. Yes, Wright might find out about this evening--but that was no guarantee that he would have to put up with Phoenix' teasing, considering he had more than a lifetime's worth of becoming versed in the art of distracting Phoenix Wright. After all, he mused as he turned on the shower, it was merely a matter of finding the right time to present the evidence.


End file.
